Book covered locks and chains.

[Errigal]

Brill. It's disgusting and dead. If I could still smell I would bitch about it at every waking moment. I awoke with his help, of course. I should have trusted him from the get go. Not much has changed with him, I'm thankful. But perhaps if I could smell I would say otherwise. The mission will not be a short one. There are contacts we need to find. No doubt they will be glad I'm gone, but when I come back it will be a bloody mess.

They say you lose your feelings with undeath. Physically of course, but emotionally as well. Who the hell had emotions in the first place? Probably those fucking night elves, blood elves too no doubt. Ugly annoying things. World Tree, Sunwell, all they do is give us certain doom. No doubt I took advantage of what I could in life, but now I have reached a better point.

I fell on my ass like a fool, some damn rodent tripped me. I was about to step on its fucking head until Valten decided he loved the damn thing. As much as I'd like to take it from his book bag while he's sleeping to destroy it, he loves it. How is he so 'ok' with everything, all the time.

I am here to serve him.

[Errigal]

Coming to terms with what I have willingly become has been harder to do than I thought. There is a certain sense of immortality that comes with this 'state', but I will go further. I had certain expectations of the Forsaken and their customs, but none as fucking depressing as what they ended up being.

It seems every 'Forsaken' I run into is either cold and withdrawn, pissed the fuck off, or a little pussy who wallows over their old life. As most horde look down at us with pity, others look and see strength and perseverance. I see them as I saw my fellow humans in life. Very few are worth while, the rest of them are pathetic wastes of space. At least forsaken aren't a waste of air too.

I did a few jobs for some of the corpses in Brill. One of them thanked me for, "tempering the cold rage in his heart." I am sad to admit I lost it, I laughed my ass off right in the middle of the tavern. If there were any tears left in this dried husk of a body I'm sure they would have come out while I took far too much enjoyment from that idiot. It wasn't so much that, as it was Valten's grip on my arm. There isn't much of a heart left but it's enough to evoke emotions.

Right when I thought he was going to be useful he decided to run off looking for some damn book or another. I decided to get a better look at Silvermoon City. There I met a rather daft orc woman. She didn't seem to mind my terrible orcish, but I think we communicated rather well.

[Errigal]

Who would have known a walking encyclopedia could bring so much more to a man besides useless information. As amusing as it was to see him treat project forty-five with such respect, I have encountered some problems with his new found calmness. Nicknames, stupid nicknames. Simmy? How did the man who used to take my mind, use it to slaughter, decide to call me something so degrading? Haven't I proven myself enough? If he wasn't so vital I'd threaten him.

As I have taken care of myself in the matter of 'rotting' and 'preserving', I do not believe he did. After all, he slept much longer than me. He doesn't even remember how he got here, said he wanted to write a book about it. I offered to write him a book, just for the novelty. Perhaps I've changed too, but not nearly that much. My desire for him has thinned significantly, to the point of hardly being there. However, if he were to die tonight I don't believe I'd be far behind.

I don't think I am capable anyway, the mere thought once disturbed me. It isn't nearly so bad now. Entirely worth the transition.

My cursive is 'awful' because my 'father pushed me too hard'. It's just 'awful' because I don't have much a librarian would be interested in reading. Then again, once he finds himself he'll want to examine this, 'for my own good.' I need to pick up a few more locks, as if these pages need any more holes in them.